Encounters
by myharlequinromance598
Summary: The story of Ron and Harry's relationship after that one fateful night.


AN:Hey... it's mhr. I've always read slash, but I've never written it before... this is my favorite pairing. r&r?

Oh... and I don't own anything. Like, anything at all.

3mhr

**The Encounters**

_Part I_

_Monday morning_

It was late one fall night when Harry found out. He awoke with a start as the sound of thunder filled his ears. Panting, heart beating fast, he fell back onto his pillow, laughing with the giddiness of relief. He lay awake, curled up under his duvet gazing up at his wallhangings and thinking, listening to the storm beat angrily against the walls of the ancient castle. He was burrowing contentedly deeper into the covers when he heard it; moaning from the bed next to him. He poked his head out and cocked an ear. Reluctant to leave the warmth of his bed, he sat up a little bit and listened for it again.

There it was! Harry twisted around and leant closer to Ron's bed. Sure enough, his best friend was thrashing around, sheets tangled around his knees, moaning. Curious, yet not ready to leave the warm, comfortable bed, Harry leaned farther towards the sound. He could almost hear a name--

He must have leaned farther than he expected, for with a dull _thunk_ he landed on the cold floor, hissing as the freezing stone hit his hot, bare shoulder. Untangling his legs from the covers, he wriggled out and got up, the cold making him jumpy. Calming himself, he padded over to Ron's bed and knelt beside his sleeping friend, who was still moaning and thrashing about.

"Oh, God, oh, God, ohh, _GodohGodohGodohGodohGod_," Ron moaned, his voice turning to an urgent hiss. Harry reached out a hand and was about to shake his friend awake when he saw a tent in his friend's boxers, and his hand paused in midair. A sly grin crept slowly across his face. So _that_ was the cause for all the thrashing about! He ran his hand through his messy hair and began to get up when he head it.

"_Harry,"_ Ron said, barely a whisper. Harry froze. Shit! He'd been found out! He turned around slowly, apologies running haphazard through his head.

"Erm, Ron, I have a perfectly good ex--" Harry's halfassed excuse died on his lips as he saw that Ron was _ohmyGod_ still asleep. Harry shook his head, unsure if he'd heard correctly.

"_Harry,_" Ron hissed, and Harry was transfixed. Ron's hips bucked upwards in slow, fluid, dreamlike motions as his back arched and he writhed in the sweaty sheets. _"Oh, God, yes, Harry, harder, oh, please, Harry, right there, oh God, ah, ah, oh, my God..." _The last syllable was drawn out, and Harry stepped back, his whole body completely alert and awake and filled with a vaguely familiar tingling that stampeded up and down his spine and ran to his groin.

He felt himself growing hard and shook himself. No, he wouldn't, that was just-- oh, God. Was Ron--? Yes. Oh, God. A flash of lightning through the room into sharp relief as Ron moaned one last time and emptied himself all over the front of his sweat-drenched boxers. Harry moaned almost inaudibly as he felt himself go weak in the knees.

Wordlessly, Harry slipped back into his bed and spent the rest of the night staring at the wall of the dormitory, his back to Ron. He'd never looked at his best friend like that. Well, once or twice. But it had been a fleeting thought, an accidental glance in the showers, a casual admiration of the taller boy's physique. But he'd never thought to act on it.

He watched as the morning dawned cold and clear over the Scottish countryside, the fresh, early-morning rays of sun spreading across the floor of the dormitory and across the faces of the sleeping boys. Harry turned over to see Ron's hair set alight by the creeping light.

At last the dormitory began to awake, and Harry watched silently as Ron awoke before the other boys. He sat up and stretched heartily before glancing down. "Shit," he muttered in a low voice, "not again." He grabbed his wand off of the bed, pointed it at his crotch, and, with a barely audible "_Scourgify" _and a wince, the bedsheets were cleaned. He glanced over at Harry and hurridly Harry shut his eyes and pretended to be asleep.

Ron swung his feet off onto the cold floor and made his way to the bathroom. Only when Harry heard the shower turn on did he dare sit up and rub the sleep out of his eyes. He felt like his stomach was doing flip flops as he trudged into the showers behind Ron, rubbing his red sleepless eyes. He had to confront Ron. He had to ask him why--

"Harry?"

_Shit_. Shit, shit, shit, thought Harry. I've been spotted, and he's in the shower, and what's that he's wear--? oh. He's naked. Shit.

_'Of course he's naked, you twat,' _his subconcious informed him snidely, '_he's in the shower.'_

"Harry, you're staring," said Ron, looking at his best friend like he'd just grown another head.

Harry seized up. There was Ron, _naked_, hair soaking wet and dripping, _naked,_ water running down his back in little rivulets, _naked, _looking at Harry as though he was insane. Oh, and he was naked.

"I... um, you, um, dreammelastnightwhat?"

"Pardon?" Ron asked with a confused smile, looking over his shoulder at Harry for reasons of modesty. Harry tried to look anywhere in the shower room but at Ron. Oh, such pretty tiles!

But no matter how hard he tried, his traitorous eyes would always stray back to Ron's naked body. Because Ron was naked. As in, no clothes on. And the water was cascading down his beautiful, lean, toned back and now he's looking at Harry funny because Harry's staring again and maybe he should say something...

"Ron, I saw you," Harry finally spat out. A cold, nervous feeling spread through him and all of a sudden he felt like jumping out a window or riding his broom to France or something insane, just to be out of that steamy shower room. Oh, shit, his lips are moving again, thinks Harry in a giddy almost-panic.

"What?" Ron looked confused again and gave him that same befuddled smile. All of a sudden, his eyes widened and he dropped the flannel he was using to absently scrub his arm. The sound of the shower water slapping the tiles suddenly sounded louder than the Quidditch crowd at the House Cup Final. Harry felt like he was frozen in place, and he couldn't take his green eyes off of Ron's blue. He couldn't think, he couldn't speak, he couldn't move. Even breathing had to be forced.

"Harry, that was just, no, it wasn't what..."

"How often?" Harry suddenly found his voice, and it sounded strange, unintentionally _harsh_ to his ears.

"A couple of times a week," Ron murmured, finally breaking eye contact with his best friend.

"Oh... um, okay," Harry muttered. Unsure of what to do, he began to turn away to leave until he heard--

"Wait!" Ron almost-shouted, his voice desperate. Harry turned back around to face the taller boy. "I'm sorry, Harry," he whispered, blue eyes miserable, wet hair hanging around his face in dripping strings. Harry just gave him a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, shrugged, and turned away.

_Shit,_ Harry thought. _So what now?_

AN: cliffie!


End file.
